Joy in All Things
by seilleanmor
Summary: Happy birthday, Richard Castle. No spoilers.


Title is from Pablo Neruda's _How Much Happens in a Day_. This one's for TMC, and especially Berkie. I'm so proud of you and I love you so much.

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**Joy in All Things**

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Like last year, Richard Castle wakes up on the morning of his birthday with the warm, fluid length of the woman he loves next to him. Only this time, he's not stranded. He can roll over and skim his fingers across the sharp ridge of her collarbone without worrying about damaging his knee, without the flare of pain to make his breath catch in his chest.

"Mm, morning." She hums, her eyes slowly fluttering open. The early-morning sunlight is hesitant, just flirting with the edges of the room and he watches the flurry of dust motes from over her shoulder, his mouth at the creamy rise of it.

Rick slides a hand to the curve of her waist and draws her slowly back against him, the grey silk of the sheets rippling underneath her like moonlight. He loves their mornings, slow and lazy and somnolent. Mostly, though, he just loves her.

His wife. Well, almost, and lately he's been trying out that name for her in his head. One day soon, he'll be able to introduce himself as her husband and the thought makes him grin and bury the arc of his joy in the heat of her neck. "Hi, beautiful."

"Happy birthday." She laughs, tipping into him and supporting her weight on an elbow. The sheet slips down from around her and he swallows hard, reaches out to touch the sacred ground of her bare skin.

"Thank you, Kate." He grins, kissing her finally. Morning breath and all, he touches his tongue at the corner of her mouth and she shoves on him, rolls him onto his back.

He half expects her to climb out of bed and stride through to the bathroom, gloriously naked and throwing him an arch look from over her shoulder. Instead, she slings a knee over his lap and sinks down, leaning in to rest her forehead at his. "It's not going to be as amazing as last year."

"Sure it will." He huffs, reaching back to shift a pillow that's making his neck torque at a weird angle. It makes her laugh again, shake her head at him, but her hips are rocking against his own in spite of herself. "Kate Beckett, you're on top of me right now and I don't have a broken knee. This day is already perfect."

"I just mean. . .I'm not going to be able to blow your mind again like I did." She shrugs, chewing on her bottom lip and regarding him carefully.

As if she thinks he could possibly need anything more than just her, right here with him. Even as they touch, slow and exploratory and tender, the sunlight creeps across the hardwood and comes to brush careful fingers at the pools of her clavicles and the slope of her nose, limning her hair.

And then she laughs, throwing her head backwards and sliding down his body. She lifts the sheets and raises an eyebrow at him before she leans in. "But I can still blow. . .other things."

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Kate makes him stay in bed, determined to bring him breakfast. Shrugging on his button down from yesterday, she fastens two of the buttons - enough to preserve her modesty while also driving him insane - and heads for the kitchen.

He's sacked out on his stomach and she hesitates in the doorway, comes back to pull the sheets up over him and dust a kiss to his cheek. Rolling onto his side, he looks up at her with the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement and reaches up to brush his fingers at her cheekbone.

"Hey Castle?" She hums, carding a hand through his hair and drifting down to push her thumb at the hinge of his jaw. The scattered sharpness of his stubble is so familiar to her now, but still somehow deliciously unexpected every time. "I love you."

"Love you too, baby." He smirks at her, so pleased with himself for the endearment. She lets him have it, partly because it's his birthday, yes. But also because it sends a cascade of vibrant joy through her that has her half wanting to climb right back into bed.

Instead, she shakes herself a little and leaves their bedroom. She can hardly believe it of herself, but it's true. Kate Beckett is about to make a smorelette.

Because she's hopelessly in love with Rick Castle, completely adores the man, and she wants to make him happy in whatever way she can. The loft is blessedly empty; it's late enough for Alexis to have already left for class, but Martha has not yet appeared.

Plugging her phone into the speaker jack, Kate starts her playlist and gathers up her ingredients, breaks the eggs into the bowl and starts whisking them. Her back to the room and her music swelling to a crescendo, she doesn't hear Castle's approach until his hands are settling at her hips and he's dragging her back against him.

Kate turns and pushes on his chest, spins him around and swats at his ass to send him back to bed. "Go away! I'm supposed to be surprising you."

"I wanna watch you cook." He whines, pouting at her. The swell of his bottom lip is enticing and Kate lifts up on tiptoe, sucks it into her mouth a moment. When she steps back he follows, his nose pressed hard at her cheek and his breath curling at her jaw. "It's sexy."

His voice is that low, devastating growl that he _knows_ cuts right through her, the bully. And then he's chuckling, stepping back from her and rounding the counter to sink onto a barstool. Already, he looks like he's been there forever, so she doesn't even try to move him.

Yes, she wanted to surprise him, but the scalding trail of his eyes at her back is equally wonderful. He watches the way she moves, the shift of her hips, and she knows the moment his eyes stray from her to the collection of ingredients at the counter top because he gasps.

There's a clatter as he near-topples off of his stool and then he's stumbling to her, his hands clutching at any part of her he can find. His mouth comes to hers, quick and devastating, and then he's breaking away to grin. "You're making me a smorelette. God, I'm so in love with you."

"You gonna let me finish?" She murmurs, squeezing the soft skin of his waist for a moment before she breaks away and heads back for the pan.

There's no recipe for this, only countless mornings watching him cook the monstrosity for himself, and she so hopes she's getting it right. At least he seems to have resigned himself to being good; he's back on his stool with his chin propped in both hands to watch her.

And then he sits up straight, gasps _again_ and really, what is it about his birthday that makes him so melodramatic? "Oh! I know. I'll make coffee."

"I got it." She says, tries not to be smug as she flicks her eyes to the coffee machine. Right on time, the liquid starts dripping down into the glass jug below and he splutters, shaking his head at her.

"You're amazing."

A shrug, and she tips his smorelette out onto the plate, fetches the bowl of strawberries in the refrigerator and sets both in front of him. Heading back to the coffee machine, she props her hip against the counter and waits for the coffee to finish.

She fixes them a mug each and comes back to sit at his side, handing his coffee over and snagging a strawberry from his bowl. He's stock still, transfixed in front of his plate and she nudges her elbow into him, nods towards his breakfast. "Eat it, babe. It's getting cold."

"I'm just basking in the fact that my future wife is the most perfect, extraordinary woman ever." He says slowly. Her kiss seems to shake him out of it, at least, and he picks up the knife and fork she set out for him, takes a bite. "Oh wow, Kate. This is even better than how I do it. Want some?"

"I'm glad." She grins, curling her arm around his neck. She's really trying not to cling, but it's his birthday and he seems so delighted with everything and she wants to keep him close. "And no. That's all for you."

"Thank you. Really. I can't-" He gapes, staring at her with something close to adoration scrawled across his face.

She laughs, pushes a strawberry into his open mouth and chases it with her kiss. "I know. Me too." It's true. She's equally undone by him. The astonishing depth of his love for her.

He finishes his breakfast in silence, pushing the bowl of strawberries over to her after she steals a fourth or fifth from him. When he's done he collects up the breakfast things and loads them into the dishwasher, ignoring her protests from behind him.

Coming back around the counter, he laces his hands at her waist and props his chin at her shoulder, kisses her earlobe and chuckles at the shiver of pleasure that runs through her. "Do we have plans for the rest of the day?"

"What would you like to do?"

"It's a beautiful day." He says, his gaze flicking to the window above the sink and the brilliant sunshine reflecting off the buildings around them before he drags his eyes back to her. "I want to get out into the city with the woman I love."

"Mm, sounds nice." Kate leans back into the heat of him, all delicious bare skin, and lets her eyes slip closed. She is _in love_ with him and sometimes, even now, it takes her by surprise. "Anywhere specific?"

"Let's just wander. Stop at a cafe for lunch. Maybe head to the museum."

He steps back from her and she swallows her protest, follows him back to their bedroom to get showered and dressed. Ready for the day.

She took his birthday off from work, wanted to spend a whole day devoting herself to nurturing his smile. So yes, even if they still haven't made it to Bora Bora, it's still wonderful. Just this, the quiet of the two of them together.

In the doorway of their bedroom, Castle stops her with the crash of his embrace, wrapping her up in his arms and pressing his mouth to the top of her head. She wriggles in delight and hugs him right back, letting herself sink into him.

He sucks in a breath, thick with emotion, and then he's peeling back to cradle her face in his palm and meet her eyes. This man, his face so familiar to her, those eyes spilling over with love - this is the man she will marry.

"A day with you. That's all I need. Best birthday ever."

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**Tumblr:** katiehoughton

**Twitter:** seilleanmor


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